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Well, this is the first fic that I actually want to post here and I don't expect anyone reading this and subsequently reviewing to sugar coat anything they say. I expect hardcore, full-frontal reviewing from you guys (Sorry for the misleading innuendo)

Again, warnings as the following scenes contain gore and mutilation. Not safe for younger audiences. All though, none of the following scenes contain flashing images, so read on epileptics your safe here.

Without further stalling here it is. *Cringes in anticipation of bad feedback*

Serial

By Diddy

I see her.

I’ve been watching her for weeks now.

I know her routine.

I know what she does when she’s alone at night.

And I know when she’s most vulnerable.

~ ~ ~

On a Wednesday evening, one Anne Pretloe goes out into the forest near her dwelling and picks wild mushrooms, she finds enjoyment in this as she always makes stuffed mushrooms the next day, sometimes inviting friends over to revel in her culinary skills.

However, tomorrow night, her friends will be disappointed. There will be no invitation, no stuffed mushrooms and no Anne Pretloe.

It was autumn time, the trees had surrendered their leaves, letting the oranges, reds and browns coat the ground, making walking a quite loud affair. The trees that had surrendered said leaves were left barren, mere skeletal forms of what they used to be.

A dead forest.

The time was 11:49pm; Anne always said that this was the best time to pick mushrooms. For me it was the best time to select my method. I had gone over the plan countless times in my head and had come to a crossroad, either option viable. Should I let my primal side take over and deal with the consequences later, or do I let my rational side win over and perform in the utmost discretion. That would come automatically when the moment best presented itself.

~ ~ ~

The time had rolled to midnight and what a delight, this is the moment. The moon at its peak in the night sky, I approach. In a voice designed to be cold, emotionless but also one of trust…

“Who are you? What are you doing? Sneaking up on me like that. Never-Do-That-To-Someone-In-The-Dark.” She spoke first of inquisitiveness and secondly of a fierce determination, stressing each word. Red eyes slowing matching mine in intensity.

“Why, I’m so sorry child, I didn’t mean to startle you.” This I used to quickly gain an accord, while not trusting of me, she still knew I could be trusted. Along the line. Sadly the pen sketching her line had run out of ink, and the gods didn’t have time to get a new cartridge. “I’ll just let you get to your mushroom picking shall I?”

Standing almost a full three feet above her, I extending the green sword on my right elbow soundlessly.

It was then I decided.

I would like to enjoy this to its maximum.

It is said to be an utmost dishonour for a creature such as me to kill another member of my evolutionary tree. But since birth, despite being a creature so in tune with emotion, I felt nothing. I had no sense of honour, I had no sense of family and I had no emotion.

This left me exiled as a young child, killing small creatures to feed my primal desire of hunger. Soon enough killing for food wasn’t enough. As I developed, my psychic abilities blossomed and I found new ways to ensnare my prey.

Using these psychic abilities, I reached out my consciousness and touched upon Anne Pretloe’s mind. ‘Hmm, she has something else planned for these mushrooms rather than the usual stuffed variety.’ But it meant nothing, as she wouldn’t last the night. I probed further, past residual thoughts and memories until I happened upon motor function. The task of learning the complex junctions of the mind had been a long and arduous one, but one that had become very useful in fulfilling my animalistic needs. I promptly shut it down and she crumpled under her own weight.

As she lay, motionless on the floor, I pondered, ‘was my decision of a rational approach correct?’ I dismissed that thought, of course it was. The cleaner this was, the harder it was for anyone to find out.

Using my innate telekinesis, I lifted the body to a nearby branch and held it there, waiting for the blood to collect in her round, green head.

Slowly the vivid green welcomed patches of red, until the rest of her body was as pale as the glowing orb miles above me.

I glanced down at the blade attached to my elbow. “Well my old friend, its time to get to work.” Announced I happily.

Utilizing the blade I made a deep incision horizontally across Anne Pretloe’s stomach, ‘perfect’ I thought, there was no blood, only a transparent fluid that oozed lazily from the wound dripping cautiously until it reached her chin and with the faintest crunching sound hit the heavily leaved forest floor. She had by this point lost consciousness, completely oblivious to the mutilation across her midriff, oozing that transparent fluid coating her torso.

My control over her was absolute; I now made two more incisions either side of the first, the wounds making an ‘H’ in shape.

H for hello internal organs.

Using both blades I pulled the two pieces of flesh both upwards and downwards respectively, extending my telekinesis to hold them in place while I worked. I first extracted the small intestine, pulling the pink rope-like organ out of her body like an unopposed tug-of-war contestant. The darker large intestine came next, while considerably smaller in length; it was more voluminous and easier to grasp hold of. When the last of it was removed I dumped it next to the mushrooms as I did with the small intestine. Next was Anne’s bladder which with a few simple cuts, joined its fellow organs on the pile, just below that and required me to reach right in there was Ms. Pretloe’s reproductive organs, her ovaries, along with her uterus.

The profuse amount of transparent liquid was now gathering underneath her floating corpse, lengthening the vertical incisions I continued to peel open her chest like one would do to a can of anchovies. With a quick snap of cartilage, I disposed of the bone structure designed to keep the vital organs safe. ‘They aren’t so safe anymore though are they?’ mused I focusing intently on the still beating heart. Keeping a determined smile on my face, I sliced the vena cava and the aorta, releasing it from its myogenic slavery.

Taking Anne Pretloe’s heart in my hand, I stared, just stared as it struggled to beat, but suddenly failed, stopping outright.

I lifted Ms. Pretloe’s heart to my nose smelling the flesh, that hypnotic odour, willing me to continue, to reach out my mouth and take a bite. So I indulged myself, starting with the expertly cut remains of the vena cava, I tore a chunk off. ‘How I had missed that taste.’ It was then my primal side kicked in. I took a larger bite, this time into the right atrium, blood smattered across my face and onto the wild mushrooms on the forest floor. ‘They would get a feast just as I am.’ My cravings for vascular flesh grew and grew until I had consumed the entire thing.

‘Until next time, sweet nectar of life.’

Nature, being the only thing that had sustained me for the near entirety of my life, deserved some compensation.

The offering of sustenance as it had always gifted me.

I turned to my side and threw my right arm across my body, only for it to swing back with expert precision, across the face of Anne Pretloe. Blood, the crimson life giver, a profuse amount for such a trivial wound flew in all directions, most thrown to my right, resting in an arced line across the forest floor, becoming unnoticeable upon the leaves of similar colour. Some of it flew back at me onto my torso; with a finger on my left hand I gathered some of the crimson fluid onto the fingertip and drank, a feeling of euphoria as it slid slowly down my throat and into my awaiting stomach.

Finally releasing my telekinetic grasp on Anne’s person, she crumpled to the floor again, but this time falling into her own internal transparent fluid. She was literally stewing in her own juices.

And now I dispose of her corpse.

Releasing the head from her shoulders was first priority, next was to remove both arms and finally both legs, biological constructs such as bone crumble like paper under the power of my blades. The internal organs, I was to leave in the place I killed Anne Pretloe, nature taking its course, bacteria will breakdown the organs until they are nothing more than nutrients to be reused as fertiliser for the surrounding trees and fungi. Like I do with all of my conquests, I mark the place of finality. An ‘x’ carved into the tree would suit perfectly.

The body parts of Ms. Anne Pretloe were to be buried in her back garden in various places. One near her cabbage patch, two more near the carrot patch and the other two residing with her potatoes. Again, the decomposing flesh and muscle serving as fertiliser for plants that will now go unpicked, themselves rotting and feeding the earth.

When all is done, I return to my place of residence. A small shack nearly four miles due west of Ms. Pretloe’s cabin. The walk there was filled with memories of the past hour, reliving how I had subdued, tortured, killed, partially ingested and disposed of a humble Kirlia, of whose name was Anne Pretloe.

-----

Again, tell me what you think. As I do have many more ideas with my anti-hero here.

By the way, with the hints provided, did it give enough to reveal the identity of the main character? I'd just like to know if I succeeded on that point.

Creative little monster, is this fellow. I liked too, his talk on nature, and the cycle of life, as it were. He almost struck me as a nature nut - in a rather unusual way. His killing for sustinence was not for himself alone, but to give back to nature. Spiritual, perhaps?

Also Anne Pretloe was a rather strange name, I thought; I perhaps tend to think of pokémon as more animals, but to be fair, psychic pokémon could have far more human charactaristics. I wonder, was Anne a pokémon who once had a trainer? Hence her name?

Creative little monster, is this fellow. I liked too, his talk on nature, and the cycle of life, as it were. He almost struck me as a nature nut - in a rather unusual way. His killing for sustinence was not for himself alone, but to give back to nature. Spiritual, perhaps?

Well, its not pointed out in great detail, but nature really is what let him live, exiled from his 'family' as it were. It's all he had.

Also Anne Pretloe was a rather strange name, I thought; I perhaps tend to think of pokémon as more animals, but to be fair, psychic pokémon could have far more human charactaristics. I wonder, was Anne a pokémon who once had a trainer? Hence her name?

That I have to admit is a name from a book I'm reading, coincedentally, she also gets murdered in a way.

And for this I had imagined a serious amount of anthropomorphism, So there are animals that we know. (Rabbits, ducks etc.) and the pokemon, who have names, houses etc. No humans at all.

The use of telekinesis, good. X3 The imagery invoked... very nice.

Yeah, When I was thinking of a killer I had a Scyther in mind, but I thought 'a bit obvious isn't it, and Scyther are generally agressive anyway.' and boom Gallade, portrayed as a gallant, noble type. so I twisted it making him a bit ignoble. Plus he had the psychic abilities so I had a whole new mechanic to work with, a FUN one.

Nice. I haven't read a good horror fic in a while, and you certainly did a good (and quite disgusting) job. Although...you do know you need permission from a Mod to post anything rated R, right?

On a Wednesday evening, one Anne Pretloe goes out into the forest near her dwelling and picks wild mushrooms, she finds enjoyment in this as she always makes stuffed mushrooms the next day, sometimes inviting friends over to revel in her culinary skills.

However, tomorrow night, her friends will be disappointed. There will be no invitation, no stuffed mushrooms and no Anne Pretloe.

It was autumn time, the trees had surrendered their leaves, letting the oranges, reds and browns coat the ground, making walking a quite loud affair. The trees that had surrendered said leaves were left barren, mere skeletal forms of what they used to be.

A dead forest.

Good imagery, here, and the POV gave the scene a nice sort of twist from the norm, IMO. But I do agree with Synthetic (you need a nickname or something. XD) that the name Anne Pretloe is an odd name anyway, somewhat more for a Pokemon. However, not a big deal.

“Why, I’m so sorry child, I didn’t mean to startle you.” This I used to quickly gain an accord, while not trusting of me, she still knew I could be trusted. Along the line. Sadly the pen sketching her line had run out of ink, and the gods didn’t have time to get a new cartridge. “I’ll just let you get to your mushroom picking shall I?”

Standing almost a full three feet above her, I extending the green sword on my right elbow soundlessly.

It was then I decided.

I would like to enjoy this to its maximum.

Again, very nicely done here with the drama and action. The pen line was also somewhat poetic, I think, which nicely increased the pacing on it. Or something like that. XD

“Well my old friend, its time to get to work.” Announced I happily.

The only error I found. I announced happily would work better, I think.

Taking Anne Pretloe’s heart in my hand, I stared, just stared as it struggled to beat, but suddenly failed, stopping outright.

I lifted Ms. Pretloe’s heart to my nose smelling the flesh, that hypnotic odour, willing me to continue, to reach out my mouth and take a bite. So I indulged myself, starting with the expertly cut remains of the vena cava, I tore a chunk off. ‘How I had missed that taste.’ It was then my primal side kicked in. I took a larger bite, this time into the right atrium, blood smattered across my face and onto the wild mushrooms on the forest floor. ‘They would get a feast just as I am.’ My cravings for vascular flesh grew and grew until I had consumed the entire thing.

‘Until next time, sweet nectar of life.’

Nature, being the only thing that had sustained me for the near entirety of my life, deserved some compensation.

The offering of sustenance as it had always gifted me.

Am I repeating myself, I wonder? Sure I am. This here was very nicely...yeah you get it. XD

In truth, I really enjoyed this. The description was good (almost frighteningly so) and the length was perfect. Our killer (yeah, I agree it was plenty easy enough to figure out it was a Gallade) seemed very...twisted, I suppose. He did seem somewhat like he was into nature, but in an odd way. Gave it an extra little twist of motive that is lacking in so many "slash and dash" gore fics.

Good job. You should start posting more fics here, I think, if this was anything to go by.

On a Wednesday evening, one Anne Pretloe goes out into the forest near her dwelling and picks wild mushrooms, she finds enjoyment in this as she always makes stuffed mushrooms the next day, sometimes inviting friends over to revel in her culinary skills.

I'm fairly sure you're referring to each or most Wednesday evenings, though I suppose the way you've worded it could work. You frequently underuse semicolons where they are needed; here we need one in stead of the comma after "picks wild mushrooms".

It was autumn time, the trees had surrendered their leaves, letting the oranges, reds and browns coat the ground, making walking a quite loud affair. The trees that had surrendered said leaves were left barren, mere skeletal forms of what they used to be.

Here either a conjunction or a semicolon is needed after "autumn time". Also, the last sentence is rather unwieldy. I don't believe you need to clarify exactly which trees looked like skeletons, since you implied that all or most of the trees had indeed surrendered their leaves.

The time was 11:49pm; Anne always said that this was the best time to pick mushrooms. For me it was the best time to select my method. I had gone over the plan countless times in my head and had come to a crossroad, either option viable. Should I let my primal side take over and deal with the consequences later, or do I let my rational side win over and perform in the utmost discretion. That would come automatically when the moment best presented itself.

Two sentences here felt to me somewhat awkwardly ambiguous: the second and the last. In the second, I think you mean this certain time everyday is conducive for him to consider his method. If you mean it was on that day and 11:49pm that he felt within the mood to select his method entirely, then it doesn't smoothly match Anne's ideas about picking mushrooms.

The last sentence uses a pronoun ("that") for something you have not yet specified. It's completely in our power to infer that you're referring to his correct choice, but the sentence itself isn't entirely smooth because it makes us have to bridge the gap. In place of "that", you could specify what it is that would come when the moment presented itself.

“Why, I’m so sorry child, I didn’t mean to startle you.” This I used to quickly gain an accord, while not trusting of me, she still knew I could be trusted. Along the line. Sadly the pen sketching her line had run out of ink, and the gods didn’t have time to get a new cartridge. “I’ll just let you get to your mushroom picking shall I?”

Semicolon or something after "accord".

I lifted Ms. Pretloe’s heart to my nose smelling the flesh, that hypnotic odour, willing me to continue, to reach out my mouth and take a bite. So I indulged myself, starting with the expertly cut remains of the vena cava, I tore a chunk off. ‘How I had missed that taste.’ It was then my primal side kicked in. I took a larger bite, this time into the right atrium, blood smattered across my face and onto the wild mushrooms on the forest floor. ‘They would get a feast just as I am.’ My cravings for vascular flesh grew and grew until I had consumed the entire thing.

By blood you mean that sickly transparent plasma that's all that remains in her torso, now that he's emptied it. I'm not sure how it would really nourish any primeval urge, though you say it's the flesh that he really craves.

Well, then. Pleasant little fiction; healthy way to put into practice a little anatomical knowledge. Galade has a very interesting mind that I would like to see more of in the future; the lack of serial killer-oriented fics here pains me. However, I felt certain of his actions and features were a little gratuitous, and at least too quickly and briefly touched on to gain any substantial meaning. Their tiny conversation really led to nothing; and there was no need, given this pokémon's abilities, to lull the Kirlia to any sense of complacency. In a proper mind the line is not so much between morality and vice as it is between animalism and rationality; rationality need not be necessarily evil and must certainly not be primeval. He felt to an extent like a machine made for the sole purpose of acts of extreme violence; there were none of the chaotic experiences and conflicts and ideas of a proper mind, no disagreement between his animal and his very human--rational--traits, and not the slightest twinge of sentimentality. One could explain this to be logical by the means of very unusual circumstance regarding his birth and growth, but a simple machine is never quite as interesting as a mind.

To an extent you have fleshed out his character, and I welcome any arguments against the points I have made in case I have misanalyzed, but this one-shot was only a very small part of his life. I expect you'll make him more of a character in any additional one-shots you'll do featuring him.

Although...you do know you need permission from a Mod to post anything rated R, right?

I was sitting on it for a while whilst Sandra was 'approving' it, so don't worry. I follow the rules unlike some people around here. Not pointed towards anyone in this thread by the way.

The only error I found. I announced happily would work better, I think.

Yeah, I'm not sure why I put that there, it actually was I announced but I changed it for some reason.

Good job. You should start posting more fics here, I think, if this was anything to go by.

Why thank you. I actually have started a full blown fic staring my anti-hero, I have the prologue down on word and then I have three planned 'murder' chapters and some actual plot, rather than just murder after murder. Ranging from his first kill, then he starts to refine the technique, testing different ways of how to do what he does best.

Luphinid Silnaek:

I'm fairly sure you're referring to each or most Wednesday evenings, though I suppose the way you've worded it could work. You frequently underuse semicolons where they are needed; here we need one in stead of the comma after "picks wild mushrooms".

I always thought I overused semicolons, the way word tells me to add them in, I do admit that I rely on word for some of my grammar hints.

If you mean it was on that day and 11:49pm that he felt within the mood to select his method entirely, then it doesn't smoothly match Anne's ideas about picking mushrooms.

I actually thought with that point, I was trying to put across that he has watched her for a while and completely knows her thinking patterns, I mean, the ablilty to read minds comes in handy if your going to do this.

By blood you mean that sickly transparent plasma that's all that remains in her torso, now that he's emptied it. I'm not sure how it would really nourish any primeval urge, though you say it's the flesh that he really craves.

I would think that some blood would still remain in the atria or ventricles even after the blood rushed to her head, so therefore when he bit into it there was some blood splatter. And he's been living off animals for the majorityof his life so I doubt he's adverse to eating a bit of flesh.

I did seem to remember a lot of my AS Biology when I was writing this.

Galade has a very interesting mind that I would like to see more of in the future; the lack of serial killer-oriented fics here pains me.

As stated above, theres something in the pipeline from this guy, and you find out his name. And yes, there is a lack of serial killer fics, personally my favourite, very very interesting. Its kinda what spurred me into action, I got the idea and had to run with it. Originality you see.

In a proper mind the line is not so much between morality and vice as it is between animalism and rationality; rationality need not be necessarily evil and must certainly not be primeval. He felt to an extent like a machine made for the sole purpose of acts of extreme violence; there were none of the chaotic experiences and conflicts and ideas of a proper mind, no disagreement between his animal and his very human--rational--traits, and not the slightest twinge of sentimentality. One could explain this to be logical by the means of very unusual circumstance regarding his birth and growth, but a simple machine is never quite as interesting as a mind.

Yeah, I agree totally, and I know I didn't get enough mind in there. God knows I wanted to but I couldn't seem to fit it in, I didn't want to make a detour mid-torture to delve into the depths of his mind so I decided to make a whole fic centred around him. Which for me is perfect as I get to focus solely on him, as serial killers aren't the most social of people (with the possible exception of John Wayne Gacy and possibly others) and I get to develop him, give possible reasons for this and let other people know how he thinks. I intend to put a lot of past in there, I want to discover his relationship with his 'family' the ones who exiled him.

To an extent you have fleshed out his character, and I welcome any arguments against the points I have made in case I have misanalyzed, but this one-shot was only a very small part of his life. I expect you'll make him more of a character in any additional one-shots you'll do featuring him.

At least I fleshed out the character a bit, and yes it is a small part of his life in which I very much intend to expand.